Fidelias shook his head. "You were unfortunate, Atsurak, nothing more. The attack will be a victory for your people."

"I question your judgment. The Marat have come. Many tribes have come. But though they have no love for your people, they have little for me. They will follow me to a victory-but not to a slaughter."

"All is in readiness. Your people will sweep clean the valley of your fathers and mothers, and my lord will see to it that it is returned to you. So he has pledged."

Atsurak's lip curled into something like a sneer. "Your Cho-vin. Cho-vin of the Aquitaine. Do you bear his totem as bond?"

Fidelias nodded, once.

"I will see it."

Fidelias stepped back to his horse and opened one of the saddlebags. From it, he drew Aquaitaine's dagger, its hilt elaborately worked with gold and with the seal of the House of Aquitaine. He held it up, so that the savage could see the weapon. "Satisfied?"

Atsurak extended his hand.

Fidelias narrowed his eyes. "This was not a part of our agreement."

The Marat's eyes flashed with something hot, vicious. He said, in a very soft voice, "Nor was the death of my chala. Already, there is bad blood between your people and mine. Now there is more. You will give me your Cho-vin's totem as bond. And then I will fulfill my end of the bargain."

Fidelias frowned. And then he flicked the knife, still in its scabbard, to the Marat in an underhand throw. Atsurak caught it without looking, nodded, and turned to walk back into the woods. A few paces past the first branches, he and the stalking bird beside him vanished.

Aldrick stared after the savage chieftain for a moment and then at Fidelias. "I want to know what in the name of all the furies you think you are doing."

Fidelias glared at the man, then turned back to his mount and secured the saddlebags again. "You heard him. Something's got the Marat spooked. Without the dagger, he wasn't staying."

Aldrick's expression darkened. "That's a signet weapon. It can be traced back to Aquitaine. He's a Marat hordemaster. He's going to be fighting in the front of the bloody battle-"

Fidelias grated his teeth and spoke in a slow, patient tone. "Yes, Aldrick.

It can. Yes, Aldrick, he will. Thus, we had best be damned sure that the attack succeeds." Fidelias slapped the saddlebags back over the horse. "After the Valley has been taken, it won't matter what plunder the Marat have. Events will be in motion by then, and it will all fall into politics."

Aldrick gripped Fidelias by the shoulder and spun the smaller man to face him. The swordsman's eyes were hard. "If it doesn't, there's evidence. If it gets back to the Senate, they'll bring charges against him, Fidelias. Treason."

The former Cursor glanced down at Aldrick's hand, then up the length of the swordsman's arm to his face. He met his eyes in silence for several seconds, before saying, "You're a brilliant fighter, Aldrick. You could kill me, right here, and we both know it. But I've been playing the game for a long time. And we both know that you can't do it before I have a chance to react. You'll be less of a swordsman without your hand. Without your feet." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and the ground shifted, very slightly, beneath the pair of them, as Vamma stirred through the earth. Fidelias let his voice drop to something quiet, cool. He used the same tone when ordering a man to dig his own grave. "Make up your mind. Dance or stand down."

Silence stretched between them.

The swordsman looked away first, his stance shifting back into his usual, relaxed slouch. He picked up the weapon the Marat had left and stood facing the other way for a moment.

Fidelias let out a slow, silent breath and waited for the too-quick pulse in his throat to slow down again. Then he turned and mounted his horse, folding his hands over the pommel to hide their trembling. "It's a necessary risk. We'll take precautions."

Aldrick nodded, his expression unhappy, resolved. "What precautions?"

Fidelias jerked his chin toward the sword. "We start with finding these two who have actually seen the Marat in the valley. If that belonged to a retired scout, he might work out what's going on."

Odiana nudged her horse over to Aldrick's, took the reins, and led the mount over to the man, her eyes on Fidelias, her expression pensive. The swordsman mounted and slipped the captured sword away, into a strap behind the saddle. "So we find them. Then what?"

Fidelias turned his horse and started riding out of the clearing, aiming their path in a gentle circle around the outside of the mountain, toward the causeway, where he was most likely to find the signs of anyone passing from

the mountain and toward the nearest steadhold. "We find out what they know."

Odiana asked, "And if they know too much?"

Fidelias glanced at his riding gloves and flicked a drying spot of blood from one of them. "We make sure they stay quiet."

Chapter 14

"And that's what happened," Tavi said. "It all started with that one little lie. And all I wanted to do was to get those sheep back. Show my uncle that I could handle things without anyone's help. That I was independent and responsible." He picked up a rind from one of the bright orange fruits and threw it back into the plants at the water's edge, scowling, his thoughts in a turmoil.

"You don't have any furies at all?" the slave repeated, her voice still stunned. "None?"

Tavi hunched his shoulders against her tone and gathered the scarlet cloak closer around him, as though the fabric might ward off the sensation of isolation her words brought him. His voice came out harsher than he'd meant it to, defensive. "That's right. So? I'm still a good herder. I'm the best apprentice in the Valley. Furies or not."

"Oh," Amara said quickly. "No, I didn't mean to-"

"No one means to," Tavi said. "But they all do. They look at me like… like I'm crippled. Even though I can run. Like I'm blind, even though I can see. It doesn't matter what I do, or how well I do it, everyone looks at me the same way." He shot her a glance and said, "Like you are, right now."

Amara frowned and rose, her torn skirts and her appropriated cloak swaying about her ankles. "I'm sorry," she said. "Tavi it's… unusual, I know. I've never heard of anyone with that problem before. But you're also young. It's possible that you just haven't grown into it yet. I mean, you're what? Twelve? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen," Tavi mumbled. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed.

Amara winced. "I see. And you're worried about your service in the Legions."

"What service?" Tavi said. "I don't have any furies. What are the Legions going to do with me? I won't be able to send signals, like the aircrafters, hold the lines with the earthcrafters, or attack with the firecrafters. I won't be able to heal anyone with the watercrafters. I can't forge a sword, or wield one like a metalcrafter. I can't scout and hide, or shoot like a woodcrafter. And I'm small. I'm not even good for handing a spear and fighting in the ranks. What are they going to do with me?"

"No one will be able to question your courage, Tavi. You showed me that last night."

"Courage." Tavi sighed. "As near as I can figure it, all courage gets you is more of a beating than if you'd run away."

"Sometimes that's important," she pointed out.

"Taking a beating?"

"Not running away."

He frowned and said nothing. The slave remained silent for several moments, before she settled down beside him, wrapping the scarlet cloak around her. They listened to the rain outside for a few moments. When Amara spoke, her words took Tavi off guard. "What would you do, if you had a choice?"